


Terra Nullius

by orphan_account



Series: Trench [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Demaverse, M/M, dema, jumpsuit inspiration, mute characters, nico and the niners, they use sign language, trench
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 08:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15263778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The world he lives in is unlike any world you’ve ever seen.You live in a world of freedom. He lives behind bars. No, not in a prison, but it might as well be one. He isn’t allowed to leave.His world has always been Dema.





	Terra Nullius

**Author's Note:**

> [Russian translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7117702)

_Introduction_

 

The world he lives in is unlike any world you’ve ever seen.

You live in a world of freedom. He lives behind bars. No, not in a prison, but it might as well be one. He isn’t allowed to leave.

How he ended up trapped in a world of silent death is a question he has asked himself many times. He has no recollection, no memory, of when this place became his home. No one is able to answer his questions either. He is surrounded by masked men who have never once muttered a single word. Their careful watch gets under his skin as they speak to him with their gaze.

He is alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company. He knows you have questions. He’s had them too. Questions he’s asked himself, questions he’s asked the universe, questions he’s asked God above.

He lives in a room at the top of a tower. Above him, the masked citizens of his prison present the universe with gifts, or sacrifices, to be more specific, of animal carcasses. When they are able to present the universe with death itself, in return, something is reborn. The balance of the universe is returned.

Although he has never seen these people sacrifice one of their own, deep down, he’s always worried that one day, it would be him that they gave to the universe in return for rebirth. He wasn’t quite sure why they let him stick around in the first place. What he did remember was his curiosity.

They wore masks made of clay, wood, and stone; many were modeled after fierce predators. He could not see the faces of these people underneath. There always had been something chilling about the people of Dema, the people he lived with, but he never questioned it, nor did he let his curiosity get the better of him. They fed him, after all. He helped cultivate fields and cleaned dishes down at the creek and started the flames to cook. There only had ever been one rule: Do Not Speak.

So he didn’t, not even when he was alone. He would not risk it. After all, he did not want to anger Keons. If you angered him, you did not return.

His ninth year is approaching, and around his room are thousands of tally marks he’s scrawled on the walls since his arrival. The townsfolk will want to celebrate. They celebrate with everyone, a silent celebration of another year under the universe’s watchful eye. Another year celebrating Keons.

So yes, it could be worse. Like you, he has questions. Unlike you, he’s been thinking about escape.

 

* * *

 

_In Die Una_

 

Unsure of his name, he signs his letters Clancy. Something about it feels right.

He’s climbed out of his window today and is sitting on top of the tower, right in the ring where sacrifices are placed. It’s still stained with the blood of dead birds from the last harvest. The universe had been grateful and had blessed them with heavy rains. He was a fan of rain, as it gave him a chance at rebirth.

Today’s the day of his ceremony. Today, he will be given a mask of his own and will be made an official member of Dema. In his letter, he’s expressed his nervousness and eagerness to venture out into the world beyond Dema’s walls. He’s always been thankful for the generosity Dema has given him, but now, he’s ready for escape.

 _As a child,_ he writes, balancing his typewriter in his lap, _I looked upon Dema with wonder, today, I am wrought with frustration, as I spend each day squinting for a glimpse of the top of the looming wall that has kept us here. It was upon my ninth year that I learned that Dema wasn't my home._

His frustration creeps from his curiosity of the lands that stretch in front of him. Lands that do not belong to the clan he’s in and lands that should never be stepped on by common folk. He very well could be hung by leaving the safety of the walls. According to the records kept by the council, the last person to try and escape was torn to shreds by one of the other nine bishops.

Maybe it isn’t physical freedom he seeks, but rather a freedom of his mind. Who is he besides a lost mortal who signs letters with no recipient Clancy? Does he belong in this world or yours?

Who is Clancy?

Maybe you know. Maybe you’re keeping secrets.

Or maybe, you’re still sleeping.

He peers into the vast landscape of mossy cliffs and hazy skies. The universe seems to mourn for his loss of freedom with him. Once the ceremony is complete, he will be stuck, destined to conform to the four walls like the rest of the townsfolk he’s grown up with. Freedom seems a long way out, but there’s a shimmer of hope on his horizon, and with it, flies his flightless letter into the unknown, carried by the wind and the universe’s desire to help him reach the outside world.

 

* * *

 

_Dies Duos_

 

He goes through with the ceremony, unable to deduce any way to get out of it. They mark his neck with black ashes and give him the mask of the crow. How ironic that he’s been given the creature he so desires to fly away with.

He’s the first member with a mask quite this important. The crow runs the village. Without it, they would have no sacrifices for Keons, nor the universe.

The council pour kerosene over the fire, sending the flames to the heavens, in honor of their stoic yet selfless leader. Nine years have given him enough time to learn their form of sign language, as the council signs to him that he is the chosen one. They are supposed to give him a glimpse into the future, but instead, the crowd departs, leaving him alone at the fire with his mask hiding his face and ashes staining his neck. He peers into him, hoping it can give him some indication of what is to come. Maybe it could present him with the freedom he’ll never be able to reach.

That night, after curfew, he sneaks out maskless and tiptoes to the edge of the wall. If he is caught, he will be charged with two violations, but he isn’t afraid. He wants to know what lies ahead as he spends his days rotting behind colossal walls.

Many people called Dema their home. The people in this village did not mingle with citizens in the other eight towns. That job was left to the bishops, bishops the people were expected to obey. Part of him wondered if others like him existed in the other villages: Lost people stripped of mental freedom wandering around like ghouls.

In many ways, he was like the others in the village. They were quiet, genderless, void of any feeling or emotion. Stories they told were not with vigor or wonder, but with lackluster symbols. If he thought hard about it, he could think about a life where romance and laughter were involved. His parents had to have loved him, right?

The families here showed no love, no romance, no hospitality. Conformity pleased the universe.

Here he sits, under a field of stars in the grass, his back against the wall. The stones are cool to his touch and he leans his neck back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he closes his eyes. The rolling hills called his name. He could no longer stand to be a mindless ghoul in here.

Under his hands, one of the stones slips out. In surprise, he pulls away and stares in wonder, his heart rate increasing tenfold.

There was a weak part in the wall. He could do it. He could escape.

Commotion comes from the other side of the village, large flames in the form of torches taking shape in the dark night.

“Shit,” he mumbles, speaking for the first time in over a year. Often he didn’t even realize he was conforming with the rest of the village until his gruff, animal-like voice echoed in his ears.

Carefully, he places the stone back in the wall, and darts away, zig-zagging through huts to the plaza where his ceremony was conducted. He kneels down in front of the fire, hoping to get a lesser sentence by pleasing Keons with a prayer.

The Council approaches with their spears and torches, their masks baring large, flickering shadows under the flames. He looks up out of the corner of his eye and swallows nervously.

‘Violation,’ they sign. ‘Breaking curfew and showing your face.’

He leans back on his knees and raises his shaking hands in front of him to sign back. ‘I came to worship.’

‘You have disappointed Keons. Seize him.’ He is hoisted into the arms of councilmen and is dragged back to his tower, where the men bound his hands and feet to his straw-stuffed bed. He grimaces as they tear his shirt off of him, presenting his skin as a canvas for their ghastly punishments.

The chief councilman glares at him from under his mask. He bears the face of a cheetah, a cunning yet cruel predator blessed with speed. No one gets away from the chief.

‘I am disappointed,’ he signs. ‘This punishment should heed as a warning.’

There is no response from the man currently tied down to his own bed.

A few seconds pass until scuffling comes from the stairs of the tower and two other councilmen enter, one bearing an iron hot with an orange halo. He must be brave.

Two men hold him down as he pulls at his restraints, and a scream rips from his throat when the iron is pressed to his pale skin. The chief lays his hand over the mouth of the agonized man and simply raises his spear to the sky, a universal sign all members of Dema know.

‘For Keons.’

 

* * *

 

_Tres Dies_

 

He wakes the next morning in pain. Across his stomach, in raised, red letters, is the word 'violation.' Fury flushes his veins and causes him to reach for his typewriter.

 

_To refer to Dema as home has never felt accurate. Dema, to me, has simply been the place that I’ve existed, or the ‘slot’ they’ve put me in._

_I’ve heard stories about the idea of ‘home,’ and its description has always seemed warm from the storyteller’s perspective. Here was a romantic ownership of the place they inhabited that I admired, but could never relate to. This place, my place, seems devoid of the romance and wonder the old stories tell._

_It’s this quiet wonder that my mind seems to get lost in. This hope of discovery alone has birthed a new version of myself; a better version I hope, that will find a way to experience what’s beyond those colossal walls._

__\- Clancy_ _

 

His hands shake as he folds the letter up and sticks it between his teeth before climbing out of the window to reach the top of his tower. For a second, he stares at the landscape in front of him, the landscape currently keeping his freedom locked away. One day, he’ll get out. That one stone is his ticket to freedom, and all he has to do is wait for the right time.

A few more seconds pass before he finally sends his letter spiraling into the land beyond.

 

* * *

 

  
_Dringenta Octoginta Diebus_

 

Over a year has passed since his last letter and his violation of Dema rules. He’s planned his escape down to the wire and has realized that there is no way he can escape unnoticed. They are always watching. Closer, now that he’s broken rules.

He hides under his mask and remains stoic. He helps cultivate the crops and stokes the fire and offers sacrifices to the universe. He hopes Keons and the other eight bishops do not notice the defiance he’s been radiating recently.

Tonight, he climbs to the top of the tower and looks at the lands he so desperately wishes to be on. Across the way, lined across the cliffs of freedom, are people, rebels of some kind. He squints and shuffles to the edge of the tower on his hands and knees.

Who he assumes is the leader holds up two pieces of paper. From this distance, he can’t tell exactly what the paper reads, but a burning flame in his heart wants them to be his letters. He hopes the others are awaiting his arrival.

Before he leaves, the line of rebels raises their hands into the air, pointing up at the sky. They must be giving him a message of some kind.

For a few more seconds, he stares at the group and hopes it isn’t his imagination.

 

* * *

 

_Quadringenta Octoginta Diebus_

 

The next night, he enters the hut of the Councilmen after curfew and quickly searches through important documents and artifacts. He doesn’t know _what_ he’s searching for, only knows he’s searching for _something._

His heart is racing and he continuously glances out the window, keeping a careful eye out for any torches or spears. Finally, his hand wraps around something of stature and it pulls it out of the drawer.

It’s a compass, and the needle is pointing East.

He pauses to think. East is where the cliffs of moss and rolling green hills are. Where the rebels lined the edge to give him a message.

Where they pointed up.

Up. East is up.

He shoves the compass into his pocket and works faster, looking for any new information he can find on the nine bishops or Dema ties. He wishes his hands weren’t shaking so much, but it is what’s motivating him to not get caught.

He stops on a document labeled IMMEDIATE: VIALISM and glances once more out the window, just in case. A candle from a nearby hut catches the corner of his eye, but no guards have found him yet.

Dema is initiating a mandate, effective immediately.

No. He feels sick. This only increases the power of the nine and furthers the trace of obedience the council has its people under. This only adds to the conformity he so deeply hates. A program, a demand, a religion, a way of life being forced to follow while the nine sit comfortably on high.

Were all of these people once like him? Pure and warm, with their own unique identities, forced to conform between four stone walls and obey the nine bishops. Dema had stolen their names, their personalities, their emotions, their lives.

He could stay here no longer. No, he longed for what Dema had taken from him. He longed for love, for happiness, for light, for romance.

He longed for the life that had been robbed from him.

Torches flash outside the window. Quickly, he stuffs the papers in his hands into his pockets with the compass and escapes into the shadows.

 

_What I call a sentence, others accept as normalcy. How did they so efficiently eradicate the dream within us?_

_Am I the only one who realizes we’ve been lied to? Am I the only one not afraid of the notion that the nine hijacked our trust, and extinguished the hope that once motivated our existence?_

_My hope of something more is all I have in this rigid tomb, and I won’t let it die._

__\- Clancy_ _

 

 

And with that, his third letter is launched into the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

_Quadringenta Octoginta Duobus_

 

He finds another paper hidden under the decree of Vialism the next morning that is... perplexing, to put it lightly. There is a picture of him, a younger, more jubilant version of himself, from when he just arrived, (or taken, rather,) and right below is a name.

_Tyler._

His whole body shudders. Of course. _Of course,_ that’s his name. He remembers now. They had stolen his identity by first stealing the thing that made him _him:_ his name.

Under his name are his weight, his height, his blood type, and an assortment of other things that only further his argument that he was stolen from his world. The world that belongs to you.

Perhaps Clancy belongs to this world, but Tyler does not.

He decides to write one last letter before his escape that night. He’s planned everything to a tee and knows exactly what he has to do. Calling himself Tyler within these walls doesn’t feel right. He needs to wait until he’s free to use his name again, to take back his identity. For now, he remains Clancy.

Clancy hopes his letters are getting to the rebels outside Dema. If they aren’t, he hopes someone is, or at least, someone gets this one. This will be his legacy.

 

 _The night took forever to arrive, and now, we’re almost ready._ Now that Clancy has teamed up with Tyler, it feels right to refer to himself as we until he escapes.

_We’ve studied the watchers, and know that there’s no chance that we can step through unnoticed. So, instead of trying to hide ourselves, we’ll make sure that both of us are noticed._

_I’m terrified and excited, all at the same time._

_They don’t control us._

_\- Clancy_

 

* * *

 

_Dies Ignotum_

**__n_ot_myo_nly_fri_en d**

 

He wakes up in the middle of a creek, surrounded by mossy cliffs, with nothing but the clothes on his back. For a second, he begins to panic, before he realizes that he did it.

He’s free.

Tyler shouts out in joy and grins gleefully as his voice bounces off the bluffs around him. It’s the first time he’s been able to make a sound in years. He can feel tears at the corner of his eyes, and what the hell, decides to let them fall because he’s so damn happy.

Finally.

_Finally._

“Fucking finally!” He screams, bursting into laughter. For the hell of it, he cups water in his hands and throws it up into the air, closing his eyes as it rains down. He doesn’t even hate the sound of his own voice this time. He’s no longer bound by silence.

Tyler’s joy ends abruptly when he notices masked individuals lining the cliff tops. He assumes these are the rebels, the ones who gave him the direction “east is up.”

The ones who led him to freedom.

But they aren’t saying anything. Is this world too bound by silence?

Is your world bound by silence?

He stares curiously, contemplating whether or not to break ties with silence. Perhaps they are waiting for him to say something.

“Hello?” His voice cracks, causing a hand to rise to his throat and his insecurities about his animal growl of a tone to return. “I saw you from the village over there.” Tyler is finding it hard to raise his voice now. His vocal chords burn, so he resorts to signing as well, hoping they’ll be able to figure out one of the two. “You told me, east is up.” He points to the sky.

There is still no answer. Silence is beginning to slither around him, making it harder to breathe. It is beginning to form restraints on him again, to bond him once more.

Suddenly, one of the rebels points towards the west, toward the way where Tyler came.

And in the distance, is a hooded figure on a horse.

He doesn’t need to speak to realize who it is. Keons. He’s coming to take Tyler back.

Tyler doesn’t want to fight. The villagers don’t want to change their way of living, don’t want to fight the power of the nine nor sever ties with Dema. He did that all on his own. Well, him and Clancy.

But he also knows that there is no use in fighting. He has lost. How stupid was he to believe he truly had a chance of freedom outside those walls?

Keons’ red cloak billows in the wind as he climbs down from his horse and strolls to where Tyler is standing. His real name doesn’t feel appropriate anymore, because the bishop is about to strip away his identity once again.

Out of everything that could happen, Clancy doesn’t expect Keons to speak out loud. His gravelly voice shatters the silence violently.

“My son, why have you chosen to leave?”

His eyes are closed, unable to view the bishop in front of him. No member of Dema got to view the bishops. They were Gods.

Clancy has no desire to speak, so instead, he signs, knowing the God in front of him will understand. ‘You lie to us.’

“Have you no respect to speak to me out loud?”

‘I have no respect for you.’ He opens his eyes. Keons is wearing a mask, his face hidden. He continues to sign despite his shaking hands. ‘You steal us from our worlds and make us bow down to you.’

“I respect you, Tyler. Or should I call you Clancy?” He reaches a weathered, greying hand towards Clancy’s shoulder. “You aren’t like the others. You have potential. The ability to replace one of us, someday even.”

“The ability to be a God?” His vocal chords tug uncomfortably as he allows the bishop to place a hand on his shoulder. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, we had a reason to seek you out. Why do you think the locals allowed you to stay in the village as a guest for so long? I am a benevolent leader, my son. You could have ended up with a much darker ruler.”

“Whose land are we in now?”

“Nico. I don’t think you want to mess with him. Let’s head back to the safety of the walls. I will explain to you what I have to offer.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Clancy refuses to move even a muscle. Keons sighs.

“We aren’t going back to the village, Clancy. We are going to my home. I’m offering you an apprenticeship. You would make an excellent addition to the Nine.”

He sneaks a glance up at the rebels who have not moved from the cliffside. They continue to watch the scene fold out in front of them.

“Okay,” Clancy agrees. Although he cannot see, he assumes Keons is smiling, pleased with the answer. His outstretched hands touch Clancy’s neck, smearing it in black ash.

And just like that, he’s back to being a slave to Dema.

As the bishop mounts his horse, Clancy trails behind, his hands bound with an invisible rope. His freedom is gone, lost in the wind to the power of the nine and his lack of courage. Maybe Keon’s residence would be better than the village. He could get the chance to speak out loud, to have his recipient-less letters sent off to distant lands instead of thrown over a wall.

His solemn gaze is met by one of the masked rebels high above him. He holds his hand above him, bearing a fist, briefly, before tearing his mask off and tossing it into the chasm below.

“RUN!” He screams. The others follow, masks falling like rain on top of them, as the echo of one, powerful word consumes the man trapped below.

Finally, he understands. They’re creating a distraction.

Without hesitation, Clancy runs.

 

* * *

 

_Nulla Dies_

 

There are black spots in his memories again. When he awakes, it is to the faces of strangers.

Kneeling at his side is a man sporting a bright yellow jacket with a head full of curly hair. He offers Clancy a sunflower and a slew of papers that can only be the letters.

“We got these,” the stranger says. “You’re Clancy, right?”

“Tyler, actually.” He clears his throat as he sits up and looks around the room. It appears that they are in some sort of mine. “You got my letters?”

“We’ve been awaiting your arrival.” He smiles, offering the sunflower Tyler’s way. “I’m Josh. We’re just like you-- escaped convicts from Dema’s clutches. You’ll be safe here.”

“What happened to Keons?” Tyler asks. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a spike of panic when the ash sticks to his fingers.

“You won’t have to worry about him anymore. For now, our only issue is Nico. If you join us, you’ll forever be on the run.”

“But we’re free?”

Josh nods. “No Dema. No Vialism. No Conformity.”

He laughs. “I didn’t think there were others like me.”

“Neither did any of us, until we learned the truth. We’re thinking about some form of revolution in the near future, but it didn’t feel right. Until now.”

“Now?” Tyler blinks in confusion.

“There’s plenty of others who need our help, and I think you’ve got plenty of fight in you to get them out. So whaddya say, Clancy?” Josh offers his hand. It’s rugged and covered in mud, but Tyler doesn’t shy away from a little dirt.

“Do you have any paper?”

 

* * *

 

_Post Duos Menses_

 

_I've made it out._

_I feel weightless. I know that place had always held me down, but for the first time, I can feel the unity that I had hoped in._

_I can see it back in the distance, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't constantly on my mind. I wish I could turn that fear off, but maybe the further I go, the less that fear will affect me. I feel betrayed by what I assumed was home. If I ever end up back there, I won't be able to look at it the same way._

_They are asleep. They're so sure that they know the truth, and carry on throughout their day with the same meaningless tasks. They've forgotten to look up, and to look outward, to understand that this isn't about 'in there.'_

_This is about 'out here.'_

_This new world surrounds me. I used to think the walls back home were massive- these green cliffs engulf me, and place me right in the middle- Trench is quite precarious at times, and it's easy to grow weary. But it's real, and it's true, and I'd much rather endure reality than to mindlessly be obedient to a life that someone else created for me. I've obsessed about this world for so long, that it feels more like home than anything I've experienced. Somehow, in this vast openness, I feel more protected than ever._

_The landscape feels endless, and I've found myself walking for hours without any true evidence of getting further down. But I've seen plants and colors out here that I'm not sure I've witnessed before. There's a beauty in the strangest places,- and the curiosity of what's next continues to motivate me._

_I wonder who else is out here. If what i assumed inside is true, there's got to be more like me-- and I’m guaranteed to find them. It's just another thing that I'm afraid of that also excites me. It just confirms all of the things that I hoped to be true for all of this time._

_I am out here and I am very alive. I'm sometimes scared, but always discovering something new, and I will not stop. Josh and I are leading the others away from Nico and towards the lands of another bishop, destined to bring down Dema and reveal the truth to those under its spell._

_I will see you soon. Cover me!_

_\- Clancy_

 

Josh reads over the letter one last time and nods in satisfaction. “I like it. Ready to send?”

“You think the others will follow?”

He rests his hand over Tyler’s and smiles. “Clancy is the voice of a revolution.”

A deep breath. “Okay. Yeah, I’m ready to send.” Together, they gather the enormous piles of letters and throw them into the air, watching as the wind carries them to the nine villages of Dema, with the hope that it will break the spell for at least one trapped citizen.

“We’re doing the best that we can,” Josh whispers into Tyler’s ear before pressing a kiss to his jaw. Tyler hides his blush.

“And one day, we’ll do better.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting notes at the end so I don't kill the vibe. One, I've done this journal style, so I hope it's not too hard to read. Two, the letters are hopefully accurately transcribed, although some of them do have extra parts I added in just to fit the storyline. And three, I have no clue whether it is Keons, Keos, Kenos, or what because I literally cannot figure out what that word says. So I guessed. If you have an idea, please leave me a comment.
> 
> BIG shoutout to Mars for being such a sweetheart and giving me the inspiration I needed to do some more writing. I've had a rough time lately, especially when it comes to this fandom, but this new album material was just begging for something to be written. I'm very excited to see what comes in the future and what comes out of the Dema era. 
> 
> Also, I'm in Australia at the moment for a semester abroad, so sorry if I'm late to respond. Time is weird here.
> 
> I've missed all you lovely people. <3


End file.
